THE BEÄTEN PATH.
The beäten path where vo’k do meet
A-comèn on vrom vur an’ near;
How many errands had the veet
That wore en out along so clear!
Where eegrass bleädes be green in meäd,
Where bennets up the leäze be brown,
An’ where the timber bridge do leäd
Athirt the cloty brook to town,
Along the path by mile an’ mile,
Athirt the vield, an’ brook, an’ stile.
There runnèn childern’s hearty laugh
Do come an’ vlee along—win’ swift:
The wold man’s glossy-knobbèd staff
Do help his veet so hard to lift;
The maïd do bear her basket by,
A-hangèn at her breäthèn zide;
An’ ceäreless young men, straïght an’ spry,
Do whissle hwome at eventide,
Along the path, a-reachèn by
Below tall trees an’ oben sky.
There woone do goo to jaÿ a-head;
Another’s jaÿ’s behind his back.
There woone his vu’st long mile do tread,
An’ woone the last ov all his track.
An’ woone mid end a hopevul road,
Wi’ hopeless grief a-teäkèn on,
As he that leätely vrom abroad
Come hwome to seek his love a-gone,
Noo mwore to tread, wi’ comely eäse,
The beäten path athirt the leäze.
